Never Leaving
by Sam.J.Eller
Summary: After a hunt gone wrong, Sam is completely dependent on his big brother; and Dean reminds his little brother of an important promise he made to him, years ago. Weechester/Teenchester. Pre-series. Hurt/Sam and Protective/Dean.
1. Chapter 1

The hard part was supposed to be catching the beast.

Corralling the creature and keeping it contained, was supposed to be the hard part.

Not getting eaten, was supposed to be the hard part.

Reciting the ritual, was meant to be the easy part.

That was why Sam was doing it, because even at sixteen, he was only permitted to do the easy parts.

He sat surrounded by herbs and holding a thick dusty book, reciting the complicated Latin transcript, as his dad and brother were several feet away, protecting him.

Normally, Sam preferred to memorize the ritual, and usually, John would demand that he did so, but this was an exception. This particular recitation was nearly seven pages long, incredibly complicated, and there hadn't been enough time to memorize it, before the hunt. Sam had only found it a few hours earlier, when he had arrived home from school and helped his family discover how to kill the monster of the week. He had found the Latin spell in an old book and had planned to re-write it on separate pieces of paper, but he had been worried about messing up the translation, and there hadn't been time.

John had really pushed the hunt. He had worried that the creature would take off, after their encounter with it - and unsuccessful attempts to kill it - the previous night, and then he would have to go searching for it once more; the list of casualties bound to elongate before they could track it down again.

The teen cringed at the screeching cry of fury the monster released, as it fought to get to Sam. It knew what he was doing. It knew that he was unbinding it from its supernatural power and with that power went its invincibility. It knew that the moment Sam completed what he was doing, it would be vulnerable to the weapons the hunters held. It knew, and it was trying to get to Sam.

His dad and brother were holding it at bay, taking shots at the huge beast, knowing that their firepower wouldn't mortally injure the creature, but rather hoping to keep it busy. The hard part was, they had to keep the supernatural monster nearby, in order for the ritual to be a success.

The other hard part - the much more problematic part - was that Sam was relatively certain his strength was being sapped, with every foreign word that rolled off his tongue. He hadn't realized it until the end of the first page, when he noticed how heavy the book in his hands had become, and how exhausted he was beginning to feel.

By the end of the third page, Sam's every muscle was quivering, his hands shaking so hard he was struggling to keep hold of the text. He focussed on the words, being sure his pronunciation was clear, regardless of how severely his body was trembling. Sam also did his best to hide the effects of the ritual from his big brother. He knew that the only reason Dean hadn't noticed that the youngest Winchester was in trouble, was because the older man was preoccupied with the task of keeping the monster away from Sam.

The fifth page had the teen fighting to stay on his feet, his legs violently shaking beneath him. It was taking everything he had to recite the Latin script. He could hear the waver in his voice, and he knew Dean must have heard it as well, because his older brother was sending him concerned looks on a much more frequent basis. He nearly got his head bit off more than once, because he was staring back at Sam, instead of focussing on the massive beast in front of him.

Typical.

That was the exact reason Sam had been working to hide his struggle, because he knew Dean, and he didn't want to divert his brother's attention. Sam didn't want Dean getting hurt because of him.

However, the moment he finished reading the sixth page, and flipped to the seventh, he crumpled to the ground. Sam's legs buckled beneath him, his energy being sucked from his being as he lost the ability to stand.

"Sam!"

He heard Dean shouting for him, but Sam could only focus on the words in front of him, on the book that was now laying open on the ground, because he no longer had the strength to hold onto it. Sam only had the energy to do one thing, and that was finish the ritual. That was all he could do.

He couldn't respond to his brother's shouts and demands.

He couldn't see his family fighting with the creature.

He couldn't even sit up straight.

He bent forward, his arms shaking, doing their best to prop him up over the book, so that he could continue to read.

He was almost finished.

Sam's head was no longer able to hold itself up as he dropped to the ground, mimicking a religious prayer pose, forehead almost touching the warn pages of the book.

He was scared, frightened of finishing the spell, unsure of what it would do to his body. He had never felt so weak, never felt himself being drained of all his strength and energy. It was terrifying.

But he had to finish it. His family was depending on him.

With only a couple lines left, the teenager drew in a deep breath, and fought to deliver the remainder of the ritual in something stronger than a whisper.

"Sammy."

The familiar voice brought Sam more comfort than he could ever describe. The calloused hand that skimmed through his hair, before landing on his back, erased every drop of fear that Sam had inside of him.

He heard his brother's knees hit the dirt on his right side, but didn't have the energy it would require to turn and look at the older man. Instead, Sam forced himself to read the last line in his head, while working up the strength to speak it, a hard shudder racing its way through his frame.

"Sam. Sammy. Stop. I'll finish it. Just stop."

Sam couldn't help but quirk a smile, even as the book was pulled away from him.

His big brother, always the protector.

Sam shut his eyes, and with one last breath, delivered the closing phrase of the ritual. The very moment the last Latin word rolled of Sam's tongue, he collapsed into his big brother. His head hit Dean's chest, as he sprawled unceremoniously across the older boy's lap, feeling strong arms accept him immediately and pull him close. Sam sighed, because even though he no longer possessed enough strength to open his eyes, he felt completely safe in his brother's hold.

He must have passed out or something, because the next thing he knew, he was being held in a different position and Dean was speaking to him. The words sounded like they were travelling through a dense fog.

"Sam. C'mon now, kiddo. Talk to me. You're scaring me. Please, Sammy."

Sam's body was entirely depleted, even his mind seemed fuzzy and detached; and while he wanted nothing more than to give in to the darkness he could feel pulling him under, he crawled back to full awareness. There was no way he could ignore Dean's desperate pleas or the terrified undertones, Sam could hear in the older hunter's voice.

"M'here." He slurred.

"Sammy?"

Dean's relief was palpable, and Sam forced himself to open his eyes, wanting to further ease his brother's fear.

"Ya. M'okay. De." He croaked, waiting for his vision to focus, getting a view full of vibrant green eyes, once it did.

"Yeah, you're terrific." Dean grumbled.

Sam hadn't realized his nose was bleeding, until a thumb slid across his upper lip, and he felt liquid trickle out his nostrils.

"What the hell were you thinking, huh?" Dean questioned, his words aggravated, but touch gentle as he swiped beneath Sam's nose once again. Dean's other hand was palming the back of Sam's head, angling it so that the teen was able to look at his brother's face, while resting against his chest.

"Didn't know. De. Swear I didn't know." The simple act of speaking was almost too much, but Sam needed his big brother to understand.

Dean's expression didn't change. His eyes were still bright with terror, and his face pinched in anger. Sam couldn't figure out whether his brother believed him or not.

The younger hunter mentally tried to register where his hands were. His legs he could feel draped across Dean's legs and onto the dirt. He felt grass brushing his right hand, twitching the appendage to discover that it was resting on the ground as well. Sam's left hand was warmer, and when he wiggled his fingers, he felt fabric. It took him a moment to realize that his left arm was resting between Dean's abdomen and Sam's own hip.

He forced his hand to move, dragging it up and across Dean's flannel shirt, until his clumsily searching fingers found their prize. Sam entangled his fingers in the amulet, feeling the small charm press into his palm as he fought to maintain the simple hold.

"Promise I didn't know, Dean. Promise I didn't." Sam vowed in a whisper, forcing his eyes to focus on his brother's as he implored the older man to believe him.

He wouldn't lie to Dean.

He wouldn't trick him like that.

He would never hurt his big brother that way.

He needed Dean to know that.

The elder Winchester pursed his lips, but nodded down at Sam.

"I know, Sammy. I know." He stated, rubbing the younger man's chest soothingly, as he spoke.

Sam sighed, relieved, allowing his eyelids to fall closed.

"D'we get it?" He questioned, compelling his eyes open, once again.

"Yeah. We got it. Dad's taking care of the carcass now." Dean reported in a grim tone, not being the least bit giddy, like he often was after a successful hunt.

Then again, Sam was willing to bet that his big brother didn't view this one as a success, regardless of the fact that the supernatural evil had been vanquished.

"What happened, Sammy?" Dean asked, not even bothering to hide his concern the way he normally would.

That was how Sam knew he had truly scared his big brother.

"Dunno. Just sucked my strength. S'like I don't hav'any energy." He struggled to explain.

Dean nodded curtly, his jaw clenching as he appeared to absorb the information.

"That's what Dad thought, he has heard of that happening sometimes."

That was anger.

Sam could feel it in how the body supporting him tensed, and see it on his brother's expression. He also knew it wasn't aimed at him.

"He didn't know." Sam said, his voice still nothing more than a whisper, but enough to be heard. The truth was, Sam had no idea if his father had known or not, but he knew that Dean needed to believe that John hadn't been aware. Sam didn't think their dad would ever knowingly place either of his boys in danger, especially without warning them first.

"He should have." Dean bit out.

Sam sighed, not having the energy to bicker. He also knew that the bitterness spewing from his brother's tongue, had far more to do with the scare Sam had given him, and less to do with any actual issues he had with John.

"Alright. The corpse his toast. We need to get moving." John ordered, as he suddenly appeared behind Dean. "Can you walk, Sam?"

Sam opened his mouth to say that he would try. He knew that he couldn't, but he didn't want to disappoint.

Dean spoke before Sam could attempt to do so.

"No. He's still trembling. He can barely open his eyes." Dean reported, swiping his thumb over Sam's upper lip, as his clinical gaze swept over the teen's thin body.

"We'll carry him, then." John stated with a nod, slinging the weapons bag over his shoulder as he made to reach down.

"I've got him." Dean declared, hunching over Sam, blocking their dad's reach.

The eldest Winchester stalled for a moment, before giving a firm nod.

"Meet you boys at the car." He declared, moving out of Sam's limited line of sight, where the younger boy could hear a book being slammed shut, and knew that John was collecting the remainder of their supplies.

"Alright, buddy. I'm going to pick you up. Tell me if anything hurts, okay?"

Sam nodded, not having the energy to explain that he wasn't injured, just drained, completely and utterly drained.

He felt like a ragdoll as Dean gently jostled him about. He pushed Sam's shaggy head to rest against his collarbone, sliding one arm around the teenager's back and another beneath his knobby knees.

In one swift movement, Dean was standing with Sam in his arms.

Typically, Sam would fight against being handled like a baby, but he didn't have the strength to make even the slightest opposition. So, instead, he melted against his brother's chest as he was carried through the woods. His grip on the amulet unintentionally loosening, but his fingers remaining tangled in the black cord that was always hanging around his big brother's neck.

"Dean." He sighed, twitching his head up, so he could see more of Dean's face, and not just his neck and the right side of his jaw.

"Yeah, Sammy?" Dena responded immediately, looking down at the younger boy.

The teen simply twitched a smile, his fingers flexing briefly around the amulet before he allowed his head to lull back against Dean's collarbone, and closed his eyes. Sam felt his brother's arms tighten around him, and dropped off to sleep to the sound of Dean's heartbeat and the feel of absolute protection.

When the teen woke, he was in the Impala, stretched across the backseat with his head resting on a jean-clad thigh. The arm wrapped firmly around him, keeping him secured on the leather bench-seat, was Dean's; as was the hand resting on his forehead and the thumb sliding rhythmically over his temple.

Sam pried his eyes open, catching a glimpse of the worried face staring down at him, before his eyelids grew too heavy and dropped closed again.

"It's okay, Sammy. You just rest, kiddo. I've got you."

The gentle concession was all Sam needed to surrender himself back into the darkness.

The next thing Sam was aware enough to register, was that he was being carried again. The scent combination of hair gel, gun oil, and M&Ms told the younger man who it was that was holding him, and he didn't bother trying to open his eyes until he felt himself being placed down. The mattress was lumpy and uncomfortable, and Sam could recall it being the same one he had slept on for the past couple weeks. They must have returned to the small one-floor rental. Upon arriving at that conclusion, Sam abandoned his attempt to force his weighted eyelids out of the way.

His body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, even his fingers were too heavy to operate. Breathing was one of the few things Sam was capable of accomplishing, and even that was requiring energy he didn't feel like he had. With each expansion of his lungs, the teen was forcing his chest to rise, and it seemed as though there was a fifty-pound barbell seated on top of it. For that reason, Sam's inhalations were short and shallow.

Something Dean was bound to notice.

He heard deep voices echoing through the small room, but paid them no mind, instead he allowed his thoughts to wander as he felt his limbs being manipulated to rest more comfortably on the bed. Each of his boots were removed, as were his socks. It wasn't until the button of his jeans was undone, that Sam grunted in disapproval, cracking his eyes open.

Dean paused long enough to lean closer to his little brother and give him a knowing look.

"You're filthy, dude. The boxers will stay on, I promise. Just let me do this. I'll be quick."

Sam figured that taking a nap in the dirt probably made a mess of his clothing, but he rolled his head across the pillow, trying to glance around the room before agreeing to allow his big brother to change him like a child.

"Dad's not in here, Sammy. It's just us."

Of course, Dean would know exactly what, or rather, who, Sam had been searching for. The teen relented, rolling his heavy head back toward Dean and giving him a nod of consent.

The older man smiled reassuringly down at his incapacitated little brother, gently patting Sam's chest, before continuing his task. Sam's eyes fell closed once the steady green gaze moved away, but he was still aware. His jeans were promptly removed and traded for a soft pair of sweats. Sam didn't own any that were that soft, so he knew that he was being put in a pair of Dean's. They were long enough to cover Sam's feet and too loose around the waste, but the teen had a feeling he wouldn't be walking around any time soon, so he had no problem trading function for comfort.

"I'm going to sit you up, buddy. Okay?" Dean asked, sliding one of his long arms between Sam's back and the mattress, in preparation, but not moving the younger boy until Sam nodded his response.

"On three."

The younger man appreciated the warning, so that he could brace himself; and though he tried, he was entirely incapable of helping the process along. He was deadweight as he was leveraged up and guided to rest against the taller body seated next to his knees, on the mattress.

Sam shifted his head, nestling it into the crook of Dean's neck as he slumped against the older boy. He heard his brother chuckle and felt a hand slide through his hair and squeeze the back of his neck. The two of them sat that way for a moment, Dean providing physical comfort, and Sam greedily absorbing every drop. The teen had nearly fallen back to sleep again, when his brother began to maneuver him out of his long-sleeve button-up. Dean left on Sam's t-shirt and slid him into a sweater. One that Sam knew also belonged to his big brother. Dean's clothes were bigger and warmer, and always made Sam feel safe. He was pretty sure it was a more a mental thing, than physical, but nonetheless, whenever Sam was hurting or sick, he tended to prefer his big brother's clothing.

When he was eased back down, he was propped up with pillows, that were stacked against the headboard. The moment he was settled, the weight that had been pushing down the mattress near Sam's knees, disappeared.

The teen felt panic rising in his chest at the sudden absence. He forced his eyes open, squinting at the light and rolling his head to the left, staring at the empty bedroom.

It was the master-bedroom, which was the one Dean and him and been sharing since they arrived in the small town. The room had a bed and a couch, where Dean had been sleeping. He had expressed disinterest in sleeping with his 'octopus of a little brother' and they made a deal to take turns switching between the bed and the couch. However, Dean had yet to give Sam a night on the sofa. When Sam had pointed that fact out a few days back, the older man had joked that it was because Sam would likely just roll off the smaller surface, and he didn't want to be kept up all night by the sound of the teenager tumbling onto the wood flooring. Sam had scoffed at the remark and let the matter drop, but he knew that Dean's reasons for insisting to take the couch, were much more simple and far less selfish.

The couch had a blanket and pillow strewn across it, but no Dean.

Sam opened his mouth, inhaling the oxygen he would require to call out for his big brother, when he heard the trickle of a running tap.

There was a small bathroom attached to the master-bedroom, and Sam rolled his head back across the pillow, to the right side of the room where it was located. By the time he had completed such a simplistic task, the noise had stopped and Dean was approaching him with a cup in one hand and a facecloth in the other.

Sam released a breath he hadn't known he had been holding, at the sight of his big brother. He was incredibly weak and entirely vulnerable, and Dean was his safety, even more than usual. He didn't want him far away, especially not out of sight. Sam didn't want Dean to be anywhere he couldn't get to him, which in his current state, was just a few steps away.

"How you doing, Sammy?" The approaching hunter questioned softly, as though he completely understood just how fragile the younger man was feeling.

Sam twitched a smile, which was about as much of an answer as he could give, without straining himself.

"Here, drink some of this, for me."

Dean always knew just how to word things to get Sam to do them. The teen had no desire for water, especially the metallic tangy shit that came from the taps, that and the effort called for just to swallow, all seemed like too much. But when Dean held the glass up to Sam's lips, the younger man obediently opened his mouth and took a few sips. He drank enough to pacify his older brother, before closing his lips and angling his head away.

Dean huffed, but relented, discarding the cup on the bedside table, before taking the cloth and rubbing it above Sam's upper lip.

The boy propped up on the bed, belatedly realized that his brother was probably cleaning up the blood from the nose bleed he could barely recall occurring. The cloth slid over Sam's lips and around his mouth and chin, prior to traveling up to his cheek and then on to his forehead. Sam wondered how exactly he had managed to get blood all the way up there, his expression must have indicated his confusion.

"Dirt." Dean explained with a simple word.

Sam nodded. The wooded area had been muddy and Sam had been kneeling and laying in it.

"You hurt anywhere?" The older man inquired, voice gruff but still seeping with concern.

Sam tiredly shook his head.

"No." He rasped after a moment, knowing Dean would need to hear the answer before there was any chance of him believing it.

Dean's clinical gaze swept over Sam's body, as he checked for himself. Sam rolled his eyes, his brother had practically changed him, if there had been any other injury, Dean would have seen it.

Dean must have arrived at a similar conclusion, because he didn't ask again. He simply finished wiping the teen's face, flipped the cloth around, and started in on Sam's hands.

The youngest Winchester enjoyed the feel of the warm, damp fabric sliding over his skin.

"Sounds like you're having trouble breathing." Dean observed aloud, glancing between Sam's face and the appendage he was holding.

"Chest feels heavy. Evvrythin' feels heavy." Sam tried to explain, twitching his fingers.

Dean's jaw clenched, as he nodded.

"You tell me if it gets worse, or difficult to breath. If anything changes, Sam, you make sure to tell me. Got it?"

Sam nodded, never one to disregard his big brother's concern, even on occasions when it seemed overbearing.

"Good." Dean declared, retuning his attention to the washcloth he was running over the muddied hand in his grasp.

Sam closed his eyes, sighing softly as his brother turned his hand over and began cleaning the dirt encrusted on Sam's palm and under his fingernails. The treatment was gentle and soothing, so much so that the teen found himself drifting off to sleep, yet again.

Once the came back around, the first thing he was aware of was the raised voices travelling into the room. When he opened his eyes, there still wasn't any light sneaking in behind the blinds over the window. He could tell he hadn't been resting for long, he would have thought he merely blinked, if it wasn't for the fact that he was no longer propped up, but was lying flat on the bed; the blankets had also been pulled over him and Dean was no where to be seen. Sam tried to push down the panic he could feel rising in his weighted chest, at the absence of his older brother. The teen was still weak, and his muscles were trembling as though they had been put through an immense strain. Turning his head toward the open bedroom door – in search of Dean - required more energy than anything so simple ever should.

Sam couldn't see what was going on beyond the walls of the bedroom, and he wasn't able to climb from the bed to find out. All he was capable of doing, in that moment, was listening. Sam kept his head turned in the direction of the hallway, where light was seeping in through the partially open door. He closed his eyes, so he could hone in on the voices drifting in from somewhere else in the small house.

It was an argument, the tones told him as much. One of the voices was hushed, he could tell that it was Dean's. There was venom in his tone, and Sam knew that he was only keeping his voice down as to not disturb his kid brother. The other voice was deeper and more gruff sounding, but louder, it boomed through the space. Sam frowned. Dean and Dad were fighting, which they seldom did. Sam and John went at it all the time, but his older brother and his father rarely fought. They disagreed on occasion, but they almost never raised their voices to one another.

Sam couldn't hear enough to know precisely what was being said, but he heard his name spoken several times. He could hear his dad being defensive, it was a John Winchester tone that Sam was incredibly familiar with. He was only able to make out the older hunter's side of the argument, Dean's voice was too hushed to understand. What Sam pieced together from the fractions of conversation, was that Dean was furious with their father, about the hunt or, more specifically, the ritual. He was pissed that John hadn't known about the effects of the spell and that he rushed the hunt, without taking the time to be sure it was safe. The eldest Winchester was enraged that Dean was questioning him and accusing him of placing his youngest son at risk. Sam's heart ached at the sound of Dean's voice and the conflict between the two people he loved most in the world.

If this was how Dean felt every time Sam and Dad fought, the teen understood why his older brother hated it so much.

He wanted it to stop, but he couldn't get up and go play referee.

Sam sucked in as much air as he could, thankful that the door was partially open, because he didn't think he'd be able to shout loud enough to travel through the wood and down the hall to the kitchen, where he was pretty sure his family was located.

The one thing Sam did have going for him, was Dean's sixth sense.

Sam smirked to himself, ignoring how heavy his chest felt as he sucked in enough oxygen to inject power into his voice.

"Dean."

He was going for a shout, and all he got was a whisper.

Sam huffed in frustration, clearing his throat and inhaling deeply, as he picked his head a few inches up off the pillow

"Dean!" He called out again, letting his heavy noggin fall back.

Sam wasn't sure that he released enough volume. He had only managed to be a fraction louder than he had been the first time. He wanted it to be enough, because the slight exertion had him feeling more exhausted, something he hadn't known was possible. Thankfully, less than a few seconds after he spoke, the sound of arguing came to an immediate stop, and Sam could hear a set of feet rapidly approaching the bedroom.

Sam was relieved to see Dean, but he felt guilty for being the reason behind all the worry lining his big brother's face.

"Sam?" The twenty-year-old called as he rushed to the bed in the far corner of the room.

"Dean." Sam sighed.

"Right here, dude. You alright?" He questioned, his vibrant green gaze sweeping over the room and the teen laid out on the mattress.

It wasn't until that moment that Sam realized he didn't have any specific reason for summoning his brother, besides him wanting to stop the fight…that, and he didn't feel safe without Dean nearby, especially not when he was a complete invalid.

Neither response was one Sam desired to admit to, but he knew one would be sure to keep his big brother nearby without causing any misplaced guilt. Dean was always too hard on himself, and if he knew that his argument with John was the cause of Sam's distress, he would feel unnecessarily guilty. If Sam were to confess his vulnerability and the neediness that backpacked onto it, his ego might take a hit, but Dean wouldn't. It was also the only way the younger man could put an end to the fight between his father and brother, in his current disabled state.

"I'm fine. I just- I couldn't see you."

"I was just in the kitchen, kiddo. I didn't go far." Dean explained, sitting on the mattress next to Sam, one leg up and the other still on the floor.

Sam nodded, because he knew as much.

"I know, but maybe- maybe…" The teen faded off, both because he had to gather more oxygen, and because he was trying to find a way to ask Dean to stay nearby, without coming across as completely pathetic.

"What is it, Sammy?" Dean's voice was nothing but gentle, as he reached forward and slid Sam's bangs out of his eyes.

Sam's desire for dignity crumbled and he dragged his hand across the mattress, until it bumped in to his brother's knee. He gripped on to the older boy's pantleg, which required an immense amount of exertion.

"Maybe you could stay. Please?"

Sam cringed at how childlike he sounded, but he didn't care enough to retract his request. For both Dean's sake and his own, he wanted his big brother to remain with him, and away from John.

The young hunter's expression softened, his green eyes oozing love as he looked down at Sam, his larger hand moving back and forth soothingly across the teen's chest.

"Sure thing, Sammy."

A grateful smile pulled at Sam's lips, as he struggled to keep his eyelids from falling closed.

It was Dean's turn to smile, it looked to be one of amusement.

"You need anything before you pass out on me again?" Dean asked, clearly able to see how exhausted his little brother was.

Sam thought for a moment, suddenly realizing his back was aching in discomfort.

"Help me turn over?" He requested, embarrassed enough to inwardly wince at the question, but not enough to keep him from asking.

"Of course. Right or left?"

"Left." Sam responded, because that was where his big brother would be.

Dean nodded, swiftly reaching around the teen's slim frame and rolling him onto his side.

"Better?" He asked, once he re-situated the pillows, and had Sam settled.

Sam nodded, still gripping Dean's jeans as he yawned.

"Get some sleep, dude." Dean instructed.

Sam wanted to do just that, his body was begging for it, but he didn't want Dean fighting with their father anymore. He didn't want his big brother getting angry or upset, especially not while Sam wasn't able to do anything about it.

"I'm not going anywhere, Sam." Dean declared.

Sam would never cease to be amazed at how well his big brother could read him.

"Promise?" He whispered, fading quickly.

"I promise. I'm not leaving you, Sammy." Dean vowed.

Sam released a content sigh, allowing his eyelids to fall closed, and twitching a smile at the feel of fingers combing through his hair.

The next time Sam woke, it was not as peacefully as all the occasions previous. He was disturbed from his deep, dreamless sleep by the taste of blood in his mouth. Sam scowled at the tangy metallic flavor, and coughed softly as some of it ran down his throat. He coughed again, but more blood invaded his mouth the moment he opened it.

Nosebleed.

Sam tired to sit up, the operative word being 'tried'. He managed to push himself up a little on his elbow, but quickly collapsed back onto the mattress again, gagging as blood proceeded to drip down his esophagus. Sam began to panic.

He needed Dean.

The teen pried his eyes open. The room was dark but he could spot his brother's tall body stretched out on the couch. The good news was, that he had pushed the couch right next to the bed, the bad news was, he was still out of Sam's very limited reach.

"Dean." Sam called out, in between a gag and a cough.

It wasn't much more than a whisper, but it was enough.

Dean was already lying on his right side, turned toward Sam. The younger boy waited for his big brother's eyes to land on him, before making his request.

"Help."

It was the most unnecessary word Sam had ever spoken in his entire life.

The moment the green gaze found him, Dean was already jumping up from the couch and stumbling the couple feet to the bed.

"Sam. It's alright, kiddo. I'm right here. I gotcha." Dean assured, kneeling on the mattress next to his struggling brother, and pulling the slender body up into a vertical position.

Sam's shaking hands came to rest on his brother's forearms, his world spinning from the abrupt displacement. He tried to grip onto the older boy's flannel shirt, his fingers merely jerking in uncoordinated movements, as the strength to control them alluded the injured teen. All of Sam's energy was being expended on the act of gagging up the blood trickling down his throat.

"Dammit." Dean cursed. He moved, grabbing something off the bedside table. Sam realized what it was the moment the facecloth pinched his nose.

He tired to breath through his mouth, which was a difficult task to do while choking on blood.

Dean continued to pinch Sam's nose with one hand, while the other shook off his little brother's unsteady grip and reached for the water.

"Here. Rinse and spit." He said, holding the cup up to Sam's mouth and momentarily releasing his nose.

Sam followed instruction, spitting the bloodied water back in to the glass being held in front of him.

"Better?"

The teen nodded, panting softly as his fumbling fingers reached forward and latched onto his brother's shirt once again.

They stayed like that for some time. Sam slumped back against the headboard, using all his strength to maintain a grip on his Dean's clothing. The man sitting across from him, continued to hold the washcloth to Sam's nose, frowning every few minutes when he would remove it and then reapply it.

"I hate your fucking blood." He growled.

Sam had heard the statement several times before, it didn't surprise him. It had something to do with his blood being thinner and taking longer to clot than his father's and brother's.

Dean's unoccupied hand moved up to cup Sam's jaw, his thumb running along the teen's bottom lip. Sam knew from the scowl on his brother's face, that he was swiping away more blood. Th teen leaned into the touch, closing his eyes and resting his head in Dean's calloused hand, sighing as the energy drained out of him as rapidly as the blood still pouring from his nose.

"I don't like this, Sam." Dean declared, through clenched teeth.

"I'm 'kay." He rasped, cracking his eyes open, hoping that would make his statement more believable.

Dean shook his head, but didn't further discuss the matter.

Sam wanted to erase the lines of concern patterning his older brother's face. Dean was too young to look so old and weary, but he didn't have the energy to do that, not now. All he could do was let Dean take care of him and do his best to get better as quickly as possible. Because the sooner he was better, the sooner Dean would be alright again.

"Finally."

The muttered word, roused Sam from his dazed state of mind.

"Done?" He mumbled.

Dean nodded.

Sam sat compliantly as his brother wiped the remaining blood from his face, for the second time that night, and removed the bloody pillow from the bed, putting another in its place. Once everything was set, Sam was carefully situated to lay on his left side.

Dean stooped down to appear in the teen's line of sight.

"Are you cold?"

Sam had to think about the question. He felt weighed down and depleted, he wasn't certain of anything else.

"Not sure." He rasped.

"You're shaking." Dean announced, his voice gruff as he tugged the blankets up over Sam's trembling form.

"It's my muscles. Won't stop quiverin'. Feels like I climbed a mount'n…with the 'pala on my back." Sam slurred, inwardly cursing as his eyelids began drooping closed once again.

Dean snorted, the comment doing what the teen hoped it would, and providing some levity to the present situation.

"Just go back to sleep. That godamn ritual took everything out of you. You need lots of rest."

Sam felt the mattress shift, and as Dean's shirt was nearly tugged from the teen's right hand, he worried that his brother was moving away. Sam's eyes flew back open, and he forced his weak grasp to strengthen, attempting to prevent Dean from leaving.

"Sammy?" Dean questioned, ducking back into his little brother's view.

The hunter must have noticed the fingers tightening their grip of his flannel sleeve.

"Stay?" Sam pleaded softly, not caring that he sounded like an emotional four-year-old.

Dean smiled kindly, the way he always did, back when Sam was a little kid.

"I told you, I'm not going anywhere. I'm just right over here, on the couch." He explained, nodding to the sofa behind him.

Sam knew that, and it wasn't what he meant.

He didn't know how to word what he wanted, and he didn't have the energy to determine the best way to ask for what he needed.

He just wanted his big brother within reaching distance.

Not being able to move and having to work just to speak, had Sam feeling impossibly useless and severely vulnerable.

His degree of helplessness frightened him.

It made him feel broken.

And Dean was the only person who would be able to make him feel safe.

His big brother was the only one who could make Sam whole again.

And while the teen knew that his brother would not abandon him, this was one situation where knowing just wasn't enough.

He needed to hear his brother breathing next to him.

He needed to smell the familiar scent of home.

He needed to feel Dean by his side.

Sam, of course, did not presently possess the strength or the eloquence to put all of that into words. So, he had to go the simpler route, and trust his brother's ability to read him.

"Stay?" Sam repeated, sounding even more desperate than the first time, and tugging weakly at Dean's shirt.

The older man gave him a curious look, that made Sam almost positive that Dean thought he was too tired to comprehend the situation, but then understanding filtered into his brother's expression.

"Stay?" Sam requested again, tugging once more. His energy was fading fast, his vision blurring as he struggled to fend off the all-consuming exhaustion.

"Sure, Sammy. I'll stay." Dean announced in a gruff whisper, his voice cracking just a little as he reached back, snatching his pillow and blanket off the couch, before climbing fully onto the mattress next to Sam.

The teen watched as his brother slid down next to him, his eyes filling with moisture as love for Dean overwhelmed his soul.

"Hey, now. None of that. You're okay, Sammy. I'm right here. I'm going to take care of you." Dean professed, knuckling away the two tears that had escaped Sam's eyes and were trailing down his cheeks.

Sam's fingers twitched around the sleeve they still had balled up in their feeble, yet, unrelenting grip. Dean moved his arm closer in response, allowing Sam to sluggishly tug it nearer to his weakened body, until the older man's arm was tucked up against the teen's chest.

"Thanks." Sam whispered. Sending his brother one more grateful look, before losing the fight to keep his eyelids from falling.

"I'm not leaving you, Sammy. Not ever."

The faint big brother promise was all Sam needed to be able to surrender to sleep.

It was all he needed to quiet the terror and helplessness inside of him.

It was all he needed to feel safe and secure.

It was all he needed to be whole again.

It was all he needed to be okay.

It was all he needed to survive.

It was all he had ever needed.

And all he would ever need.

For the rest of his life.

* * *

Note: There will be a 2nd chapter to this fic, I am in the midst of writing it now. I would love to hear your thoughts on the story so far! It would motivate me to finish off the second half! :) If you have questions about this fic or any of my other ones, feel free to private message me on here or on my tumblr (link is in my profile). If you ask questions in the comments I don't often remember to answer them, just because I usually lose track of them before I get the chance. Thank you so much for reading! I am off to get a few hours of sleep before work. - Sam


	2. Chapter 2

"You're not going to school."

"Yes, I am."

"No, Sam, you're not."

"Yes, I am. I have to."

"No, you don't have to, you _want_ to. There's a difference."

"No, Dean, I need to go. I have a test."

"So, I'll write you a note."

"I don't need a note. I need to take the test."

"Well, tough. Because it ain't fucking happening."

Under normal circumstances, Dean would never make such a firm statement, because it would only further ignite Sam's rebellious tendencies; but desperate times called for desperate measures. And Dean was feeling pretty damn desperate.

Sam opened his mouth, and by the expression on his face, Dean knew his little brother was about to tell him exactly where he could shove his parental command; but before the kid could rip into his older brother, his face paled and he faltered. Sam's twig legs buckled, and he reached out to grab onto the table, to keep himself from collapsing.

"Shit." Dean cursed, rushing forward and grabbing hold of his brother's arms, gripping above his elbows and keeping him on his feet.

Sam tried to shrug off the older man's hold, even though he had not yet acquired his balance. Dean didn't allow it. He kept a firm grip on Sam, resisting the teen's efforts to dislodge him.

"Let go of me, I'm fine." Sam snapped, stumbling as he fought to pull away.

"No, Sam. Stop it!" Dean barked. His grasp unrelenting as he cautiously, yet firmly, forced the teen back and down onto the kitchen chair.

Sam attempted to fight him off, but the injured kid was no match for his big brother.

"Just, stop it. Okay?"

"No! Dean, get off me!" Sam grumbled, ripping his arms from the older hunter's.

Dean allowed it, but only because the kid was seated and in no danger of dropping to the floor and hurting himself

"You're hurt, Sam. You can't even stand for more than a few minutes. You're exhausted. Dude, you're shaking." Dean pointed out, anger and concern blending in his voice.

"I'm not shaking." The teen objected, even as his hands trembled.

"You are. Your body is done in. Your breathing is still too shallow, you can't stand for more than a few minutes, you can't even yell at me like I know you want to. Face it, Sam, you haven't gotten your strength back from that godamn ritual."

"I'm fine." Sam grunted, through uneven breaths.

"You're not. You're an idiot."

Sam scowled at the insult, staring up at Dean in anger, mixed with a dash of hurt.

Dean rarely insulted his little brother so blatantly, often when he called Sam names, he was joking. On occasions he was truly frustrated with the kid, he would call him out for being stubborn, or hard-headed, or aggravating, but Dean was beyond frustrated, he was terrified. Also, in his defense, Sam was being a complete and utter moron.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Sam fumed.

"You are! You're my fucking problem!"

Dean regretted his harsh demeanor as Sam flinched back in the chair and more hurt filtered into the hazel eyes.

"Screw you." Sam seethed, ire seeping through his tone and expression.

Dean released a bitter laugh. All he was trying to do was keep the brat safe, and this was the thanks he got? It wasn't enough that he had spent half the night fighting with their father about the man's obsession with the hunt and how Dean refused to allow John's reckless ways to endanger his kid brother. Then he spent the rest of the night taking care of that same little brother. After which he woke up from only a couple hours of sleep, to find nothing but a note on the kitchen table. John's scrawled script stating that he was off on a hunt a couple states over and would return when he was able, which Dean knew wasn't going to be any time soon, and of course, in his haste, the man hadn't remember to leave any cash behind for his sons.

It wasn't enough that Dean was already trying to figure out how he was going to pick up extra shifts to make up for their lack of funds, all the while taking care of his little brother who didn't have enough strength to stand unaided for more than a few freakin minutes. ,

No, it would seem that Dean wasn't doing enough. He wasn't even able to convince his little brother that he was not ready to go marching off to school, so what fucking good was he?

"I'm sorry, Sam." Dean bit out sarcastically.

Anger lined the teens face as he glared up at the older man.

"I'm so sorry you're stuck with a piece of shit brother who wants to keep you safe. It must be hard to live with such a controlling asshole." Dean spat. His fear, desperation, and hurt tumbling from his mouth like venom.

Dean watched as hurt flashed across his kid brother's face. He hated that he caused it, but there was too much emotion storming inside of him for him to try and fix things now. The best thing he could do for Sam, was leave, before he caused the young teen anymore distress, and before he had to stare at the broken puppy-dog expression for one more second.

Dean clamped his mouth shut, keeping his tongue from betraying him any further, as he marched to the door, glad he still had his shoes and jacket on from earlier when he had gone to grab something from the car. He stormed out of the house, glad that Sam hadn't called for him, because Dean never would have been able to ignore him, he never could.

Dean headed to the left, for no reason in particular. He scowled at the dark clouds painting the sky, and pulled his jacket collar up, shield himself from the cool morning wind. He picked up his pace, intent on letting off some steam before getting caught in the approaching storm.

Dean wandered around the sketchy neighborhood, observing his surroundings in an effort to keep his mind carefully blank. Besides, he hadn't seen much of the area since they arrived a couple weeks ago. His job at the bar was in the center of town, as was Sammy's school. The most Dean had seen of the small town was the route between their small rental to the high school, and then the short trip from the school to the bar, and back again. Dean would drive his little brother to school, and then go to the day shift at the bar, and then pick Sam up after school, and drive back across town to the house. Any hunting they had been doing had been nearly an hour out of town in the country, and all the research had been done at the kitchen table that John had piled full of library books. Needless to say, it had somehow escaped Dean until the current moment, just how crummy the neighborhood was.

As he circled around the next block and directed himself back toward their current residence, he told himself that he would try and scrounge up enough cash to get them into a nicer place for the remainder of their stay, which could be anywhere from a couple days to a couple months. Until John decided to come around again, or summoned the boys to meet him, Dean wanted Sammy to stay in a neighborhood that didn't have used needles littering the sidewalk, or one where the neighbors weren't all screaming at one another at eight in the fucking morning.

Dean felt cold drops of rain splash down on his head and realized how much darker it had gotten, the blanket of black clouds concealing the morning light. The rain began to pour down, Dean picking up his pace, hunching his shoulders as he squinted forward, he was still too far away to spot the tiny rental. What he was able to spot, was a thin boy stumbling his way down the street.

Sammy.

Dean took off running.

"Sam!" He shouted out through the rain.

The teen lifted his head, and Dean was able to catch sight of the pale face, seconds before his little brother crumpled to the ground.

"Sammy." Dean cried out, sprinting toward the small frame sprawled on the sidewalk. In the rush to get to his little brother, a memory flashed across Dean's mind.

 _Dean stormed out of the motel, kicking the vending machine as he stomped past it._

 _He stuffed his hands in his coat pockets and trudged out into the snow._

" _Stupid, fucking, shit." He cursed, kicking at the snow as he marched further from the motel room. He wasn't going to go far, there wasn't really anywhere to go. The motel was in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but a condemned warehouse across the street and a few other stores down the road, but they would all be closed by now, it was nearly midnight._

 _Dean just needed out of the room, and away from his father._

 _The man was being so unfair. He was freaking out over nothing! Dean was fourteen and all he wanted to do was hang out with his friends for one freakin night! It wasn't a big thing, it was just_ _ **something**_ _. Dean had already missed out on a bunch of parties and hang outs, because Dad had been away and the teenager had been taking care of his kid brother. But Dad was back now, for the weekend at least, and Dean had requested the chance to go to a movie with some friends from school. He hadn't thought it would be a problem, but apparently, it was a huge fucking deal. His father had practically bit the teen's head off just for asking._

 _Dean wasn't sure why. He knew John and been tense since he arrived home from his last hunt, and while the older man wouldn't open up as to why, Dean knew that something bad had happened. That was why he hadn't asked his dad yesterday if he could go out, but had waited until today, hoping the hunter would be less keyed up. Of course, Dean had no such luck. John had still been silent and broody when Dean had approached him about going to see his friends for a few hours. His dad hadn't even given it a moment's thought, immediately telling Dean no. When Dean had requested a further explanation, John had simply stated that he needed him home to watch Sam, because the hunter might need to leave earlier than he had expected. Even though John had originally promised that he would be home for a few days._

 _Dean had fought with his father, pointing out how unfair it was that he never got to hang out with his friends, and asking why the older man had to leave so soon. To that, he had been given the classic lecture about helpless victims and the importance of the hunt. That blanket response only adding to Dean's frustration. He fought a little harder, argued a little longer, before coming to the reluctant conclusion that John was not going to budge. That was when the teen had stormed out._

 _Sam had even tried to fight for his big brother's cause. The younger boy sniffling, thanks to the damn head-cold that refused to let him be, and shuffling between John and Dean, turning to look up at their father and asking in his raspy little voice, if his big brother could please go out. Sam promised to be good and insisted he would be fine to stay on his own if John had to leave, pointing out that he had done it before._

 _John hadn't gone for it, which was fine, because Dean wouldn't have either. He hated leaving Sam on his own, and he sure as hell wasn't going to do that while the kid was sick. Dean just wished that their dad could commit to stinking around for all of five bloody minutes._

 _Dean huffed as he continued his stroll, as small as the rooms were, the motel was a decent size and it was taking him quite some time to walk the length of it. The cold wind and snow sure weren't speeding up the process. Dean shivered as he hunched into his coat, thinking that there might have been a warmer way for him to blow off some steam. Then again, it wasn't like there was any privacy to be found in the closet of a motel room that him and Sam and been living in for over a month, and John whenever he felt like dropping by for a visit._

 _Dean clenched his jaw, and did his best to swallow the anger rising in his chest._

" _Dean?"_

 _The husky tone was barely more than a whisper over the winter wind. But Dean heard it._

 _Because it was a voice he always heard._

 _It was Sammy._

 _Dean's eyes squinted through the snow, scanning the area. He couldn't see his little brother, but the call sounded like it had come from ahead, not behind._

 _He picked up the pace, his boots pounding down the snow as the teen rounded the side of the motel, coming out at the front near the office. His eyes went to the direction of their door, but room seventeen was too far to spot from where he was standing._

 _What he could see, was his kid brother, who was standing barefoot in the snow in the middle of the godamn parking-lot, calling out for Dean._

" _Dean?" The voice may have been hoarse, but it was frantic._

" _Sam!" Dean shouted, running up to his little brother._

" _Dean!" The kid called out, spinning around so that he was facing Dean, and moving toward him._

" _What the hell are you doing out here?" Dean barked, as he reached Sam, placing his hands on the trembling shoulders and crouching down in front of the kid._

" _I-I couldn't find you. I didn't know where you went." Sam rasped, his fingers reaching out and gripping onto the front of Dean's jacket._

" _Why didn't you grab your coat?" The teen questioned, sliding out of his winter jacket and immediately wrapping it around the shivering child._

 _Sam opened his mouth and closed it a couple times._

 _Dean figured the kid either hadn't realized he didn't have a damn coat on, or he was too cold to share his reasoning._

" _And where the fuck are your shoes?" Dean asked, staring down at the small feet buried in the snow._

 _He looked back up as a cold hand touched his cheek. Moisture-filled hazel eyes stared right into his, and had Dean's heart clenching violently._

" _Please, don't be mad, De." The hoarse request melted the teen in one quick second._

" _I'm not mad, Sammy. Not at you. C'mere, little brother." Dean beckoned, his voice soft as he reached out for the ten-year-old, pulling his small frame into his arms, and lifting the trembling child off the ground. Sam immediately wrapped his tiny arms around Dean's neck, and locked his legs around the teen's waist. Dean secured his brother against him with one arm wrapped around his back, and placed his other hand on the crown of Sam's head, pressing the shaggy noggin against his chest and pulling the collar of the jacket around the boy's face._

 _Dean felt Sam nuzzle against him as he made his way rapidly toward their room. While moving closer to his destination, the teen registered that the Impala was gone and the door to room seventeen was partially open._

 _Dean shivered as the cold wind bit through his over-shirt, clenching his jaw at how cold his little brother must have felt, standing out in the snow barefoot, in his sleep clothes. Dean pulled Sam impossibly closer to him as he neared their room._

 _The teen entered the room, kicking the door closed behind him and locking it into place. He carried Sam to the bed furthest from the door and placed him on the mattress._

 _The younger boy sat there shivering, turtling himself into Dean's jacket. The teen straightened up and looked down to assess his little brother. The kid's pants were soaked, and his hair was covered in snowflakes._

" _Shit, Sammy. How long were you out there?" He inquired, using his fingers to brush the melting snow from the shaggy hair._

 _The younger boy shrugged, which meant he knew the answer would upset his big brother. Translation, Sam had been out in the snow way too fucking long._

 _Dean moved about the room, turning the heat up and grabbing a towel from the bathroom, before snagging his own sleep clothes off his bed._

" _Where's Dad?" Dean asked the question he had been wondering since noticing the Impala's absence, as he towel-dried Sam's mess of hair._

" _Took his duffel. Said he was going to Buffalo and he'd call in a couple days." Sam's husky voice explained, amidst sniffles and sneezes._

 _Dean clenched his jaw. His anger rising at his father, but he swallowed it down, he had more important things to deal with._

 _His number one priority._

 _Sammy._

" _Why did you go wandering out into that weather?" Dean inquired, because even at just ten years of age, Sam had more sense than to go walking around in the winter without the proper clothing._

" _Dad told me to just wait here until you came back…but I was worried."_

" _Worried? About what?" Dean wondered aloud, pulling his jacket off his brother and tossing it aside._

 _Sam remained silent as his brother removed his shirt, shivering as the chilled air hit his exposed skin._

" _Cold." He whispered._

" _I know, buddy. I go you covered." Dean assured, snagging one of his own sweatshirts, and slipping it over his brother's head, helping Sam thread his arms through the sleeves._

" _These pants need to go too. They're drenched."_

 _It sounded like a statement, but Dean knew that his little brother would understand the question hidden inside of it._

 _Sam nodded, and used his arms to leverage himself off the mattress, allowing Dean to swiftly remove the snow-soaked pants._

 _As Dean slid his own pair of sleep pants up his brother's legs, his knuckles grazed the frigid skin. He inwardly cursed. He never should have walked off, and he shouldn't have taken so long to come back._

" _What are you going to sleep in?" Sam asked, once his brother's sweat pants were pulled up around his waist._

" _I'll be fine. You know me, I can sleep in anything." Dean responded with a shrug. His thick clothing had protected him from the elements, he wasn't nearly as cold as the younger boy, and he also wasn't already ill._

 _Sam frowned, pulling his hands into the long sleeves of the sweater, as he sat propped against the headboard._

 _Dean pulled the covers up around the slim form, making sure every part of his brother was dry and covered, before plopping down onto the mattress next to the knobby set of knees._

" _What were you worried about?" He asked, referring to their earlier conversation._

 _Sam chewed on his lips as he stared down at his hands, his fingers fiddling with a loose thread dangling off the edge of the right sleeve._

" _Sammy." Dean prompted, tapping the kid's leg, impatiently awaiting a response._

" _I was worried you wouldn't come back." Sam whispered, his gaze rising as high as the teen's chest, before dropping back down._

 _The confession hit Dean like a sucker punch to the gut._

" _What?"_

 _Was all that the older boy could manage, his mind spinning as he tried to figure out how his little brother could ever conjure up such a thought._

 _Sam shrugged, sniffling once more before answering._

" _I just- you were so mad. And I thought maybe you went out to see your friends. And that's okay, I want you to go and to have fun. But then Dad left…and I just- we never know when Dad is coming back, and I just got scared that maybe you would be gone for a long time too."_

 _As shocked as Dean had been upon learning of his brother's concern, the raspy explanation made complete sense._

 _As mature and intelligent as Sam was for his age, he was just a kid. He was a kid who had to move around all the time, and a kid whose father was flighty at best, disappearing for chunks of time and never the least bit accurate with his estimated return date. He was a kid who was left alone more often than any child his age ever should be._

 _He was a kid who was taught not to trust those around him. And then the only two people on the planet that he could trust, just walked out on him. Neither of them giving him any idea of when they would return. Leaving the ten-year-old feeling alone and unprotected._

 _Of course the kid was fucking scared._

 _He had every right to be._

 _But Dean was going to fix it._

 _Because that was his job._

 _He was the big brother and the person that Sam depended on the most._

 _Sam had been taught to count on Dean._

 _And Dean would not let him down._

" _Sam. I need you to look at me." The teen instructed, waiting patiently for the timid hazel gaze to meet his steady green one._

" _I might get pissed off once and awhile, and when that happens, sometimes I just need to go get some air. You know that, I've done it before."_

 _Sam nodded, because Dean had done it before, but this time had been different._

 _Dean wasn't sure if it was because the kid was sick or because John had taken off at the same time, leaving Sam feeling completely alone. Whatever it was, this time had been different, and had cause Sam to have doubts about his brother's return._

 _Which was not okay with Dean._

" _But you need to know, Sam, that no matter what, I will always come back. Alright? If I need to go cool off, I might leave for a bit, but I promise I'm coming back. I won't ever take too long."_

 _Sam nodded, his hazel eyes gathering moisture._

" _I'll always come back, Sammy. What do I always say anytime Dad and I go on a hunt and have to leave you behind?"_

 _Sam sniffled, before replying._

" _You tell me that you'll be back soon."_

 _Dean nodded._

" _And when you can't be back soon you call me to tell me."_

 _Dean nodded again. Hating every time that had been necessary._

 _He had always felt sick leaving Sammy behind, and the only reason he had ever done it was on the occasions when Dad desperately needed Dean's help, and when it was much safer for Sam to be in a crummy small town motel, than out on the hunt. Dean was always filled with fear and anxiety the entire time the two brothers were apart, and he hated to think about how freakin lonely his little brother must have felt, being left behind._

 _It broke Dean's heart and the teen couldn't ponder it without getting a lump the size of a baseball, lodged in his throat._

 _He had been doing his best to be sure that Sam came along on more hunts, and that he was at least close by when he couldn't. On the occasions where neither of those were possible, Dean called the kid as much as he could, checking in on him, being sure that Sam knew he wasn't alone, or forgotten._

 _Doing whatever he could to make sure his little brother didn't feel abandoned._

 _Like he had tonight._

" _But you didn't tell me that you would be back, this time, Dean." Sam whispered, the child staring up at the teen, his hazel gaze peeking out behind a curtain of hair._

 _Dean leaned forward, stooping in closer, reaching up and brushing the brown bangs out of his kid's eyes and off the side of his forehead._

" _That's cause I just figured you knew, kiddo. But that was stupid of me. I should have made sure that you knew."_

" _I usually know. But Dad always says when he'll come back or how long he'll stay but…" Sam faded off, searching for the right words._

 _Dean knew exactly what the right words were._

" _But it's all bullshit. And he never stays as long as he says he will, and he's almost never back when he says he'll be." Dean supplied._

 _Sam bit his lip, as he nodded, agreeing with his older brother's statement._

" _But I'm not, Dad, Sammy." Dean pointed out, kindly but firmly._

 _Because he wasn't. He loved his father and respected the hell out of the man, but he wasn't him. He didn't get absorbed in obsession. He never lost sight of what was most important._

 _His job._

 _His number one priority._

 _Sammy._

" _I'm sorry for being stupid." The child apologized._

 _Dean immediately shook his head._

" _This isn't on you, Sam. It's on me. I shouldn't have just run off without saying anything to you first. It wasn't fair of me. And I won't do it again."_

 _Sam nodded, his expression oozing gratefulness as he looked up at Dean, from where he sat huddled on the bed._

" _But just so you know. No matter how angry I get or what is going on, I will always come back."_

 _Sam's bottom lip trembled, a couple of tears trailing down his cheeks as he nodded._

" _I'm never leaving you, Sammy. I promise." Dean vowed, struggling to speak past the emotion clogging his airway._

 _Sam nodded again._

" _Thanks, De." He croaked._

 _The teenager knew that he had done nothing to deserve the face full of hero worship he was currently receiving, but he relished it just the same. He smiled down at his little brother, as he reached forward and thumbed away the tears tacking down the young face._

" _Don't mention it, dude."_

 _He was awarded with a set of dimples, as Sam quirked a smile._

 _And as Dean basked in the glory of being his little brother's unworthy hero, he inwardly marvelled at how lucky he was to have Sam, and swore to himself that one day he would be deserving of his kid's unconditional love and adoration._

 _He would do whatever it took to protect the younger boy's kind, forgiving, sweet soul._

 _He would do whatever it took to keep Sam safe._

 _Whatever it took._

The memory flickered through Dean's mind in the time it took him to reach his little brother.

"Sammy." He called out, crouching down in front of the kid that was seated on the sidewalk, slumped forward like he didn't have the energy to sit up straight.

Which he probably did not.

"Dean." Sam exclaimed, forcing his head up, his eyes meeting Dean's as the teen clumsily reached forward and hooked a couple fingers on the black cord that was always hanging from the older man's neck. Even through the sheet of rain and long brown hair, Dean could spot the terror shining in the wide hazel gaze.

"Right, here, kiddo." Dean soothed, removing his leather jacket and wrapping it around the slender frame that was trembling on the ground.

Dean paid no mind to the rain that immediately began soaking through his shirts, as he swept a clinical gaze over his little brother.

"Where the hell are your shoes?" He questioned, having a strong sense of deja-vu from the memory that had burst through his mind only a moment ago.

Sam didn't even bother glancing down at his feet, he only tried and failed to get his legs underneath him.

Dean shook his head, pulling his coat tighter around Sam's body, before getting a grip of Sam's arms – just about his elbows - and hauling him to his feet.

Both the boys stood, getting absolutely drenched by the cool water pouring form the clouds, as they waited for Sam's knees to lock.

"Let's get you back inside." Dean stated, keeping a strong hold of his little brother, even after his legs began to hold his weight, and pointing them in the direction of there small rental house, which Dean still wasn't able to see from their position.

Sam took an unsteady step, fighting to coordinate his long limbs.

Dean looked down to be sure that Sam maintained his footing, that was when the older hunter spotted the trash and drug paraphernalia littering the ground in front of them. Dean glanced between the filth and his little brother's bare-feet for a quick second, before arriving at a decision.

"Sam, stop. Just stand still a minute." He instructed.

Sam's head bobbed back up and he gave Dean a questioning look, but he obediently halted his slow shuffle.

Dean moved to stand in front of the teen, he fed his brother's arms into the jacket sleeve, before zipping the coat securely around him. Dean then spun around so that his back was to Sam and tugged the teen's skinny arms over his shoulders, bending down and waiting for Sam to do his part.

"S'okay, Dean. I can walk." He stated, his voice hushed by the clap of thunder.

Dean's response was to give his brother's arms another tug, which was enough to cause the unsteady body to fall against him.

Sam grunted as his chest collided with Dean's back.

Dean waited until Sam wrapped his arms loosely over his shoulders and around his chest, before crouching further down and getting his grip on the pair of bony knees. Once the older man had a firm hold, he rose to his full height, his little brother on his back.

Dean made his way down the street, squinting through the rain that was drenching his face, as he maintained a solid grip underneath Sam's knees.

Often, when it came to hunting and schoolyard assholes, Dean cursed Sam's lack of height, the kid was too damn small. He was gaining it, little by little he was getting taller, and ganglier. Though, Sam still had a long way to go if he was ever going to catch up to his big brother. And normally, Dean hoped that the teen would grow to be as tall as him - or at least close - but at times like this, at times like last night, Dean was perfectly content with Sam's small frame. Not that he didn't want his little brother to get some more meat on his bones or sprout up a couple more inches, it was simply easier to carry the kid around when he small.

Then again, Dean knew that even if his brother grew to a supernatural size, he would always find a way to take care of him.

The taller boy smiled as he felt his kid's head drop against the back of his left shoulder, and nuzzle lazily into his shirt.

The walk back to the house took about ten minutes, and the whole while Dean wondered how exactly his little brother had made it so far, and what it had cost the injured teen. Based on how bonelessly Sam was draped against him, and how rapid his chest was expanding, Dean was willing to bet the stroll had cost the teen more than then he could afford to give.

Dean silently cursed himself. How could he just take off on someone who wasn't able to remain vertical for more than a few minutes? How could he leave the kid so completely defenseless? How could he stomp off to sulk, while his little brother was so godamn vulnerable? How could he walk away, forcing the injured boy to come stumbling out into a storm after him?

"S'not your fault."

The comment was made right next to Dean's ear, with a shallow breath, but Sam's tone was confident, as he gently patted his big brother's chest, with one of the hands he had loosely clasped around him.

Dean wondered how the hell Sam could read him so well, when the kid couldn't even see his damn face, but he supposed that he could often tell what Sam was thinking without spotting his expression, so it made sense that the method could be reciprocated.

Dean refused to allow himself to be abdicated of the guilt so easily.

Because it was his fault.

However, Dean tossed the blame aside for a moment, stuffing it into a corner of his mind to be revisited at a later time, because right now he needed to focus on his little brother.

And Dean's guilt, though well-deserved, was not going to help Sammy.

The older man felt a tug around his neck, and glanced down to realized that his brother had stopped patting his chest, and two of his bony fingers had hooked themselves over the ugly gold charm.

Dean felt his heart swell at the sight, and picked up his pace, his brother's bare-feet knocking against his knees as he marched; the tiny shack of a house, finally coming into view.

Dean felt Sam's lanky frame flinch as lightening cracked through the dark sky.

"Almost there, Sammy." Dean reported, ignoring the noise of the storm as he arrived at their driveway, making his way between the overgrown weeds and the Impala as he headed for the front door.

It wasn't open, but as Dean released one of Sam's leg and twisted the doorknob, he found it to be unlocked, and entered the space.

The small house was dated and musty, but at least it was dry.

Dean kicked off his boots and then made his way to the back of the house, where the master bedroom was located.

"Alright, buddy, I'm going to set you down." Dean warned, releasing his little brother's knees, but immediately gripping on to the kid's arms, to keep him from falling. The older man waited until he felt Sam release the amulet and take some of his own weight, before pulling away and turning to face the teen, all the while maintaining a stabilizing grip on his arms.

"You good?"

Sam gave a shaky nod, but remained on his feet as Dean cautiously retracted his hold. He gave the teen a once over. He was shaking like leaf in a hurricane, but was somehow holding steady, and it was looking like they had maybe a couple minutes before Sam was in danger of kissing the ground.

Dean hurried over to the dresser, grabbing a dry pair of boxers, a clean shirt, and sweatpants.

"Here. You soaked my clothes, so you'll have to wear your own now."

Sam slowly reached out and took the clothing Dean was holding out to him. The way frowned down at them, looking at his pants as though they had offended him in some way, had Dean thinking that maybe the kid was too out of it to know what to do with them, but Sam soon cleared that up for him.

"Like yours better." The teen muttered dejectedly.

Dean quirked a smile at the mumbled comment, the fact that Sam had allowed such a sentiment to escape, was a testament to just how rundown the kid was.

"Sam?"

The hazel eyes were so soft and open. Sam didn't have a single defense up. He wasn't pretending to be tough. He wasn't fighting for independence. He wasn't brooding in teenage angst. He wasn't hiding any part of himself. Sam was being completely vulnerable, just as he had been last night.

"Change into those dry clothes, for me."

Sam nodded, looking down at himself, then at the clothes in his hands, and then staring longingly at the bathroom.

Dean shook his head, the kid would never make it there and back again, he was becoming less steady by the second.

"You need to change before you go all ragdoll on me, kiddo."

"But—

"Relax, Francis, I'll turn around." Dean smirked, mocking his brother's sensibilities.

Sam twitched a smile, and clumsily unzipped the jacket and discarded it on the floor. Dean watched as Sam did the same with the sweater, being sure that he was still relatively steady, before turning away and granting Sam his requested privacy.

While he waited for the okay to turn around, Dean made his way to the dresser, pulling open the bottom drawer and rifling through it, until he found his other sweater. The one he had put on Sam last night was newer and softer, but his older one was still warm enough and it was Dean's, which was essentially the whole point.

"Dean."

The older Winchester spun around at the call, because that wasn't an 'I'm done changing' signal, no, it was an 'I need my big brother' plea.

Sam was dressed, but he was wavering where he stood, and there was blood pouring from his nose.

"Fuck!" Dean cursed, tossing the hoodie to the side and rushing toward the teen, reaching him just as his legs folded beneath him.

"Whoah, I've got you. I've got you."

"C'mere, sit down." Dean instructed, half guiding, half carrying Sam over to the couch. He slowed the teen's decent as he all but collapsed onto the sofa.

"Put your head back." He ordered, pushing Sam's forehead so the back of his skull was resting against the back of the couch, to keep the blood from pouring down his face.

Dean rushed to the bathroom, grabbing the hand-towel off the counter and quickly returning to his brother and pinching the cloth around his nose.

The older boy slid his hand into the shaggy hair and brought his brother's head back forward until it was straight and Dean could get a better look.

Sam's face was pale, his hair was still dripping from the rain, the bottom half of his face was smeared with blood, and his tired hazel eyes were trained on Dean.

"I don't like this, Sam." Dean declared referring, to both the constant nose bleeds, as well as the other lingering effects of the ritual, he recalled making the same statement last night.

"It's okay, Dean. It's getting better." Sam assured, his voice nasally as his older brother proceeded to hold the towel around his nose.

Dan huffed at the response. He couldn't argue with it, because it was true. Sam's condition had improved since last night. When they arrived home from the hunt, the kid wasn't able to sit up on his own, hell he couldn't even roll himself over. But that morning he had gotten himself out of bed – although it had taken four tries – and to the bathroom. He had been able to stumble his way down the hall and stand long enough to argue with his big brother, and then he had somehow managed to make it all the way down the street before falling on his ass.

Sure, Sam may have been getting better.

But that wasn't enough for Dean.

Because the kid should never have been injured in the first place.

"I should have done the damn ritual." The older hunter growled, pulling the cloth from Sam's nose for a moment to fold it inside out before reapplying the pressure.

Sam sighed, not sounding exasperated or frustrated, but weary.

"We didn't know the side-effects that came with it. There was no way you could have known what was going to happen." He explained.

"You were supposed to be safe." The older brother mumbled, tone full of regret.

"I know." Sam stated softly, his large hazel eyes staring sympathetically into Dean's green ones.

Dean pressed his lips into a line, but dropped the matter, because all he could do now was help his kid heal. And next time there was a ritual to be done, Dean would make damn sure that there was no risk involved, and if there was, Dean would recite the fucking thing.

"It looks like your nose has finally stopped gushing. For now." Dean reported, removing the blood-soaked cloth.

"I'll go wash up in the bathroom." Sam declared, inching to the edge of the couch and placing both hands on the cushion, attempting and failing to push himself to his feet.

"How about I just grab you a damp towel, so you can clean yourself up." Dean suggested, after watching his kid brother try to stand three more times.

Sam huffed, his arms shaking as he pushed them down against the couch.

"I need to use the bathroom." He admitted sheepishly.

"Oh, alright, then." Dean reached down, his palm up, silently offering his help.

Sam hesitated for only a few seconds, before accepting the offer and placing his hands in Dean's. The older man knew that his little brother was gripping with all the strength he had, which made the weak, shaky grasp _that_ much more concerning.

Nevertheless, he pulled the kid to his feet and supported him on his slow journey to the bathroom.

It was a brief walk, but by the time the two brothers crossed the bedroom and neared the small bathroom, Sam was shaking so hard that Dean was worried he was going to collapse again.

Once they made it to the threshold where the carpet converted to tile, the paused. Dean waited to see how Sam wanted to handle things. He didn't want to force his will on the kid, but he also didn't want Sam falling down and giving himself a concussion.

Dean felt Sam try to pull away from him, and allowed it, because he knew what the kid was doing. He was testing his strength, deciding what he was capable of.

The test didn't go well.

Sam hadn't been able to hold more than half his weight before stumbling back into Dean. The older man stood steady as he accepted more of the teen's weight.

"Will you – uh, will you help me?" Sam questioned, his face colouring in embarrassment as he timidly glanced at his big brother.

"Yeah, dude. No problem." Dean instantly assured, guiding the teen into the small space, elbowing the light switch on as the pair shuffled across the floor.

They stopped moving when Sam was positioned in front of the toilet.

"Number one or two." Dean inquired matter-of-factly.

"One, so, umm…"

"Don't worry, kiddo. I gotcha covered." Dean stated, hearing his brother's discomfort in his nervous hum. He released Sam's left elbow, turning to face the wall and wrapping his arm across the teen's chest. Sam caught on to what his brother was going for, and stretched his right arm across Dean's chest, the grip keeping him stable, as well as freeing up his left hand and giving him some degree of privacy.

Dean stared at the wall, making a running commentary about how truly hideous the wallpaper was- and why the hell did it have grapes on it? He rambled on, satisfied when he heard Sam chuckle at one point, and not stopping his monologue until Sam released his grip on Dean's shoulder, and patted it clumsily.

The older brother spun back around, using his foot to flush the toilet.

"I could have done that." Sam mumbled.

"Not without ending up in it." Dean replied.

Sam snorted, inching toward the sink.

Dean moved to stand behind the teen, reaching forward to turn the tap on, before placing one hand against Sam's chest, and the other on his left hip.

The younger boy held the sink with one hand and used the other to splash water on his face, washing the blood away.

"Whoah."

Dean tightened his hold as Sam faltered, nearly faceplanting into the sink, before finding a fraction of balance again.

"Sorry." Sam rasped.

"You nearly done, kiddo? I don't think your legs are going to hold you much longer."

"Yeah, just my shirt." Sam said, turning off the tap and trying to slide his arms out of his sleeves without relinquishing his hold on the side of the sink.

"What about it?" Dean questioned, trying to figure out what the uncoordinated teen was aiming to accomplish.

"There's blood on it." Sam explained, nearly losing his balance again in his struggle to remove the clothing.

"Okay, let's get it off." Dean agreed, swiftly helping to extract the shirt, tossing it on the floor to deal with later.

Sam was finally satisfied, and allowed his older brother to help shepherd him from the bathroom and over toward the bed.

The taller man had tugged the teen's arm over his shoulder, and supported Sam as they made their way painstakingly slowly across the bedroom.

"Dean."

The short gasp was all the warning Dean received, before Sam went completely limp.

"I gotcha." He promised, not realizing exactly how much of his own weight Sam had been holding, until the kid went boneless.

Dean, more or less, dragged his little brother over to the bed, leveraging him up onto the mattress with a grunt. He propped Sam up against the headboard, making sure he was properly supported, before swooping down to grab his twig-legs and hoisting them onto the bed.

Sam released an exhausted sigh, resting his head back, his hands twitching in his lap.

Dean watched a hard shiver run through the lean body, and moved to grab the sweater he had dug out of the dresser. When he returned to Sam, the younger man was holding his own head up and was looking a little less like a zombie.

"Better?" Dean asked, bending down in front of his little brother.

Sam nodded, his breath still coming too fast and shallow for Dean's liking.

"Here." Dean said, placing his sweater in Sam's lap.

The teen smiled at the clothing, his trembling fingers reaching out and grazing over the old hoodie. Dean watched the painfully slow movements, and observed the tremors wracking his frame.

The kid was drained.

He had just expelled any of the remaining energy that had been stalked in his reserves. He was now completely and utterly depleted. And as he continued to fiddle with the sleeve of the sweater resting in his lap, Dean realized that the teen likely didn't have enough strength left to get the damn thing on. His assumption was confirmed when the teen stared up at him, hazel eyes shimmering as Sam sported the most helpless expression Dean had ever seen.

"Hey, Sammy, don't worry about it." The older brother soothed, seizing the sweater and slipping it over the shaggy head. He waited patiently as Sam sluggishly forced his arms through the sleeves, before pulling it down over his torso.

"Still think you could have gone to school?" Dean questioned, his voice light as a joking smile tugged at his lips.

Sam released a breathy chuckle, his dimples making an appearance as he shook his head.

"And maybe, you're not as fine as you thought you were?" Dean pointed out, plopping down on the mattress next to his brother's knees, his body angled toward the teen.

"I knew I wasn't fine." Sam stated.

Dean nodded, because obviously. It had taken the kid four tries to get out of bed that morning, and once he had gained his footing, the sixteen-year-old and walked like he was eighty.

"Then what was with the bullshit?" The older brother asked, honestly wanting to know.

Sam bit down on his lip, letting his hair fall in front of his eyes, before giving Dean the slightest shrug, a shrug that left the older man wondering if maybe the teen's shoulders had simply twitched unintentionally.

"Sam, I know that you fake being alright when Dad's around, because your twisted little brain thinks that being hurt makes you some sort of failure, or some stupid shit like that. But you never used to pull that dumbass stunt with me, not until this morning."

Sam continued to chew on his lip, peeking out at Dean from under his bangs.

"You knew you weren't fine. And I knew you weren't fine. So why the pretending?" Dean prompted, with the hope that asking a more concise question would grant him a reply.

"I was doing it for you." Sam admitted after a moment.

"For me?" Dean repeated, his eyebrows raised. Because he sure as shit hadn't enjoyed it.

Sam sucked in another breath, before answering.

"Last night, I scared you. What happened to me, it scared you. You were so worried, dude, you looked so old."

Dean scrunched his face up at the offensive comment, but allowed Sam to finish, being able to tell how much the simple task of speech was taking out of the younger man.

"I knew that you wouldn't be able to relax, or take a breath until I was okay again. So, I tried to make myself okay, so that you could be okay." Sam confessed, his explanation coming out slow and arduous, as though every word was more difficult to release than the last.

Of course Sam had done it for the older man. Of course he pushed himself to the point of depletion, for his big brother. It was just so fucking Sam, to put Dean's emotional needs before his - much more significant - physical ones.

"Sam, all I need to be okay, is for you to be okay—

"I know, that's why—

"Not _fake_ okay. Real okay." Dean clarified. "You pretending to be alright and not letting me help you get better, that doesn't do either of us any good.

"I know." Sam agreed.

"Good." Dean nodded.

"And me taking off didn't do either of us any good, either." He added after a moment of silence.

Sam's eyebrows rose and he shook his head.

"No, you needed some space. It's okay. You were going to come back."

Dean was glad that his brother knew that, though his actions would have indicated otherwise.

"You're right, I was. I always will. You know that."

Sam nodded, a grateful look on his face.

"Than why did you come out in the rain to chase me down?" Dean inquired, careful to keep his tone from coming off as accusing.

Sam dropped his head tiredly back against the headboard, his gaze remaining on Dean, as he released a weary exhale.

"I knew you would come back, but I couldn't wait. My body…it's not listening to me. I can't do anything for myself, I just felt really help– I just need you." Sam summarized, his raw vulnerability shining through.

Sam had felt helpless. He had been alone, unable to protect himself, and barely able to function. He had been as his weakest most susceptible state, and Dean had stormed off. His little brother had been scared, frightened of being alone while he was so damn powerless. Who wouldn't be terrified in such a situation?

"I'm sorry, Sammy. I shouldn't have left you."

"You didn't leave me, Dean. You never leave me. You just went for a walk. And normally that wouldn't bother me, I know how you are; but this time…today, when I'm this- this useless, I just got scared."

"You're not useless, Sam. You're hurt. I should have seen that you didn't want to be alone."

Last night had clearly depicted that fact to the elder Winchester, but somehow he managed to disregard it only a handful of hours later.

"Stop it, Dean. I practically shoved you out the door."

"Yeah, well, you pushing yourself too hard, isn't anything new. I should have handled it better."

"And I shouldn't have been an idiot." Sam stated, quirking a playful grin.

A surprised laugh burst out of Dean.

"No argument there."

They smiled at one another for a moment, all mistakes forgiven and all grievances dismissed. However, a brief moment later Dean observed his little brother take on a more serious expression.

"What is it, Sam?" He asked, knowing there was something on the kid's mind.

"If I promise not to piss you off again, will you promise not to leave? Even though I know you would come back, I just really, I really need you around right now."

The pleading puppy-dog eyes and the soft confession made Dean's heart clench, and he found himself working to swallow the emotion that was clogging his airway.

He cleared his throat, before answering.

"Sammy, I'm not going anywhere. Alright? Not even on a walk, until your better. I'll be here the whole time. You can yell scream or swear at me, hell, you can throw the biggest bitch fit you want, I'm still not going to take off."

Sam laughed softly at the comment, and Dean leaned forward, sliding his hand onto the back of his brother's neck, and squeezing gently.

"I'm not leaving you, Sammy." He vowed.

Tears glistened in Sam's eyes.

They were tears that Dean had seen before.

The weren't tears of sorrow or pain.

They were tears of appreciation, of gratefulness.

The were tears of love.

And the teen looked up at Dean with that same expression of admiration, that he had worn when he was only ten years old, the older man soaked it all in, just as he had years ago.

Dean still didn't feel worthy of Sam's admiration, or his unending forgiveness, or his unconditional love.

Dean didn't think he deserved any of it.

But he would gladly accept it.

Because it made him whole.

Sam made him whole.

Having a little brother who worried about him, who tried to make things okay for him.

Having a little brother who admired him, and appreciated him.

Having a little brother who forgave him.

Having a little brother who needed him.

Have a little brother who loved him.

Having Sam.

 _That_ was what held Dean together.

That was what fixed his brokenness.

That was what gave him purpose.

That was all he had ever needed to be okay.

That was all he needed to be whole.

That was all he needed to survive.

That was all he had ever needed.

All he would ever need

For the rest of his life.

 **The End**

* * *

Note: That is the end of the two-shot. I hope you enjoyed it :) I have a few things on the go right now (the next chapter to Frostbite being one of them). I am writing whenever I get the chance! I really wish I had more time! I would love it if you had a moment to comment/review, I really appreciate the encouragement! I am also getting much better at replying! Thanks for reading! - Sam


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